


Sugar

by BullfinchsSinBin (Bullfinch)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (of the robot-limb temporary kind), Amputation, Dark McCree, Deepthroating, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Immobility, M/M, Object Insertion, Revenge, Trans Genji Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/BullfinchsSinBin
Summary: Genji has been an agent of Blackwatch for less than three weeks, yet he still seems to be better than McCree at nearly everything.So McCree visits Genji one night while his cybernetic body is deactivated for maintenance.





	Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rifa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rifa/gifts).



> Why is McCree a huge asshole in this fic? Because it makes for good smut. Thats it thats the reason
> 
> UPDATE: Now has a sequel written by deskgirl!! See the end for link :')

“All right, switching to backup.”

Dr. O’Deorain swipes at the tablet and Genji feels his systems shift, the flow of information switching from hardwired to wireless transmission. A fallback, should his body become so damaged that commands can no longer make it to his limbs via the traditional route. Thus far he has never needed it.

It feels strange. He hates it. Hates this body. Hates what was done to him—by his brother, yes, but also by the doctor. He lifts a hand. This is metal and plastic and battery rods. This _isn’t him._

Reyes, standing beside the doctor, nods at him. “How is it?”

Genji makes a fist. “Slow.”

“Hm. Maybe McCree’ll stand a chance this time.”

McCree.

He’s standing across the mat, nursing a bloody nose. In over two weeks he hasn’t won a single bout, and the desperation is showing. Genji finds it embarrassing. The man should know that he and his outdated prosthetic arm can’t win against this…monstrosity Dr. O’Deorain built. And yet he still seems to take each loss as a personal insult. The commander’s dry goading hasn’t helped.

“All right. Go again.” Reyes waves a hand.

“Very well,” Genji murmurs.

McCree wipes his nose and readies himself. His false eye gleams dully red.

Genji goes in first because he doesn’t want to be waiting forever. Slow. They’re supposed to be working on grappling—Reyes was strict about that—so Genji goes for the takedown first. (It’s harder for McCree to get them on him. The metal and plastic are heavy.)

McCree widens his stance, crouches, and resists, but while Genji is slow his synthetic body is still stronger than anything organic. It’s a strange sensation—the doctor said she wanted his new body to be as close as possible to the real one, but he could never feel the individual molecules of his muscles ratcheting over each other, bunching up and tightening in their microscopic bundles. He can feel it now.

He lifts McCree off the ground and throws him down on his back.

To his credit, McCree allows only a half-mount. (Should that be to his credit? They have been doing this for over two weeks.) He wraps up one of Genji’s arms. Ah. Genji realizes his mind has been wandering. He braces the other arm, leans down, and tries to pull free.

McCree smells of sweat and cigarettes. The cigarettes are disgusting and Reyes shouldn’t allow them but does, perhaps to quell McCree’s childish insubordination. A token of rebellion to keep him in line when they are doing things of import. Genji wrinkles his nose behind the mask. Smoke, stale beer, and the acrid scent of exertion. He himself hardly sweats anymore.

McCree’s legs shift under him. Ah. Again he was not paying attention; he rarely has to in these bouts. The backup system will be too slow to form the counter so instead he pulls his free arm back in as McCree lifts his hips and rolls, flipping them both over. Genji lands hard on his back and hardly feels it. The metal bracings and dense synthetic muscle absorb the shock. Above him McCree grins with triumph.

Genji can’t even muster a roll of the eyes. McCree is practically sitting on him, wasting the half-mount—so much room for Genji _(even_ with the wireless neural relay) to twist, draw his free leg up, and coil it over McCree’s shoulder. Genji grabs the arm and pulls it out, holding the tension well below breaking. This is boring. McCree yelps in pain and taps frantically on the mat.

Genji releases him and rises.

Reyes lets out a long sigh. “Moira? What do you think?”

“Hm. I could see the delays.” She frowns, scrolling on her tablet. “I’ll make some adjustments and push them through during maintenance tonight.”

“Good.” He jerks his head. “Come on. We’re done for today.”

Fine. Genji heads out of the training room, sparing only the barest glance at McCree, who still sits on the mat, glaring at him with one brown eye and one a smoldering, baleful red.

——

Genji hangs suspended in the air.

The software maintenance is almost halfway done. He always means to bring something to read or watch but never remembers. The mechanical arm jacked into his back holds him a few inches off the floor of the lab; his body is deactivated except for essential functions. His robotic limbs hang dark and dead.

In the corner of his enhanced vision the timer ticks down ever so slowly. That’s his own fault for not bringing any entertainment. Hopefully this update will make the backup systems faster, and smooth out some of the hyperactive reflexes and visual glitches. Things he never thought he’d have to worry about. (First because he was human, then because he was killed by his brother. Almost.)

A _beep_ sounds from the door and it slides open.

McCree ambles inside, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. There’s still a cut on his nose from this afternoon, and his lip remains swollen. His face is unshaven and shiny, and the reek of cigarettes tells Genji he’s just come back from a smoke break. “Evening,” he says conversationally.

Genji narrows his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know. Thought you might be getting bored. The cycle takes a while, right?” He sets his beer bottle down and pokes at the tablet sitting on the long metal table beside where Genji hangs. “I bet you could use the company.”

“I don’t want your company,” Genji tells him. “You can leave.”

“Ah.” McCree claps a hand to his chest. “Now that’s uncharitable of you.”

“I have no interest in being charitable.”

“Trust me, I’ve gathered.” He chuckles, his eyes sliding down to Genji’s toes and back up again. “So, you’re deactivated, huh?”

“Yes,” Genji answers tersely. “For maintenance.”

“No kidding.” McCree picks up the tablet. “You know, I read your file.”

Genji remains silent. He isn’t fond of the fact that McCree probably knows more about him than the reverse, being an established member of Blackwatch.

“Interesting stuff. Japanese mob, something of a _playboy,_ they say…sliced to bits by your own brother.” McCree strolls closer, still scrolling. “Also left me curious. Oh, here it is.”

Genji jerks—at least his human arm does—as the rubber strip that covers his groin retracts. “What are you—stop this!”

“Hm.” McCree regards his groin with a lifted eyebrow. “So the good doctor decided to leave things as they were.” He reaches out.

It takes a moment for Genji to process what’s happening. McCree palms his synthetic vulva, stroking his slit, parting his lips—fingers thick and rough and probably dirty. “Get _away_ from me!” he shouts, grabbing McCree’s shirt with his one good arm and shoving him away.

McCree stumbles back, sighing. “Right.” He sets the tablet down and reaches into his belt.

Maglock restraints. That’s what they use for criminals. Genji is so stunned he doesn’t think to react until McCree’s already grabbed his wrist, and he tries to pull away but that prosthetic hand is too strong. “Get away from me! Get _away_ from me!” he shouts again. “Get— _ah!”_  

McCree twists the arm behind his back, wrenching his shoulder. Genji feels the cable wrap and tighten around his wrist, feels the other end secured to one of the struts at the opposite shoulderblade. There’s no way he can break a maglock with his human arm.

“There, that’s better.” McCree stands back and smiles at him benignly. “Now let’s take a look under the hood, shall we?”

While he scans through the tablet Genji struggles, straining to loose his wrist from the maglock—not a chance—and trying in vain to move his arm and legs. Nothing. They’re dead until the maintenance cycle is finished. Even his comms are offline.

“Hm.” McCree nods thoughtfully. “Looks like it probably wasn’t much fun for you, what I did earlier, huh?” He shows the tablet—the print too small for Genji to see much. “The good doctor has some experimental settings in here she hasn’t activated yet. I found the one for sexual pleasure. It’s turned off right now. What a thoughtless woman.” He draws his finger across the screen. “Let’s turn it up a little, shall we?”

Genji’s groin burns warm as fire.

Dr. O’Deorain made this body without any input from him; she insisted that it be built to _feel_ like his true body in order to reduce cognitive dissonance and ease the transition into this new state of being. So he is built in the same form as he had before, and while he has not masturbated—being preoccupied with other things—he finds that this, the heat in his groin, is not exactly the same but very close to how it used to feel, except that it is much more intense. And McCree is the one controlling the settings. “This is not funny!” Genji snarls. “Change it back!”

“I don’t think so, sugar.” McCree puts the tablet down and grins at him—not a kind grin, not at all. “You had your fun this afternoon. Now it’s time for me to have mine.”

He approaches and slides two fingers into Genji’s cunt.

The sensation is nearly overwhelming. Genji hasn’t had anything…inside him since his death. He grits his teeth and tries to cross his legs, to no avail. Still powered down. McCree strokes his inner walls. “Damn,” he breathes. “Just like velvet. That’s fuckin’ something.”

“Fuck off,” Genji hisses. His cunt clenches briefly. He had not meant for that to happen but whatever McCree did to him with that tablet—even this unwelcome intrusion is arousing.

“Oh, your body’s singin’ a different tune,” McCree murmurs.

He’s right. Genji hates it but feels the gush of lubrication, easing passage for McCree’s fingers. “That’s just the programming! Stop— _touching_ me!”

“Mm.” McCree withdraws with reluctance, returning to the tablet. A few seconds later and the mechanical arm holding Genji up releases him.

Genji collapses to the ground, half-curled. This isn’t good. Plainly McCree has not finished with whatever he plans. And indeed he comes over, kneels, and turns Genji on his back. “There. That’s better.”

The pressure on his wrenched shoulder makes Genji swallow a whine. “The commander won’t be happy with you,” he tries. “He’ll punish you.”

McCree snorts. “Not that badly. I’ve been here three years. You’re the new guy.” He unzips his pants and reaches into them.

No.

His cock is swollen and thick, foreskin stretched around a rock-hard shaft, the bulbous head flushed and red. To be that hard already—he must be on something. Genji tries not to panic. It’s too big—at least to take with only a few seconds’ preparation.“Don’t.” His eyes flick up. “You can’t do this! I can’t—you’ll hurt me!”

McCree grasps his cock. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You opened up real nice for my fingers.”

He pushes Genji’s leg back, folding his knee up to his shoulder. Genji starts to say something but the words stick in his throat when he feels McCree’s shaft grinding against him, parting his vulva. This can’t be happening. The new body is supposed to make him more powerful. Not turn him into—

McCree’s cock enters him.

First the head pops in, and with how thick he is it _should_ hurt, it should. But it doesn’t. McCree advances, his shaft spreading Genji wide open. The pressure is maddening, especially when he hits the one spot—

Genji twitches—at least his torso does; his legs remain motionless. How could it feel this good? McCree is too big. It should hurt. He _wants_ it to hurt. Then he could be a victim of violence, instead of someone who—

McCree’s face is alight, enraptured, his eyes half-glazed with pleasure. “Oh, baby, you’re amazing,” he says.

And then starts to thrust.

Genji hardly counts a half-dozen before he comes. The orgasm bursts from his cunt all at once, and he shouts in surprise, back arching. What’s happening to him? McCree never even touched his clit. If this were his true body he would expect his legs to twitch or shake, at least to feel something, but they remain dead to both movement and sensation. It won’t stay like this, surely. Surely this was a fluke, a simple result of him not having had sex in weeks.

“Did you just come?” McCree chuckles. “Fuck, baby, I didn’t know you liked it that much. Not to worry, I’ll do you right.”

“You _disgust me!”_ Genji shouts. “Get away from me! _I don’t want this!”_

“Say it all you like, but I felt you come just now. You were grippin’ me like a fist.” McCree’s prosthetic hand comes down and tilts Genji’s face to one side; he leans down.

It’s obvious he hasn’t showered since their practice this afternoon. The sharp reek of sweat makes Genji try to wrench his head away, but McCree’s grip is too strong. His breath still smells of cigarettes and that vile American beer.

His tongue runs up the thin skin of Genji’s throat.

Genji tries to kick, tries to punch and flail. Nothing. He’s helpless here, lying on the floor like a doll. McCree’s lips lock onto his neck, sucking. That will leave a mark. His legs splay, and he fucks down into Genji’s cunt with a hard, powerful rhythm.

“Get off of me—get off of— _hm—_ “ Genji steels himself against another orgasm. McCree is so _deep_ in him, so deep already. As if his cunt was made to accept cocks, regardless of size or source.

“That feel good, huh?” McCree’s breath is hot on his neck. “You like takin’ my dick? You like spreadin’ your legs for me?”

Genji struggles as best he can. The result is pathetic. “No! I hate it! I hate you!”

“Is that right?”

McCree bottoms out and then fucks into him rabbit-style, with little short thrusts that hit the deepest part of him. Genji knows what’s coming already and manages to swallow the moan, mostly, as another climax takes him, his cunt milking McCree’s cock.

“That’s it, baby. I knew you had it in you.” McCree sits back and pulls out, his cock head popping from Genji’s hole. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

Genji averts his eyes, aware of how powerless he is. His cunt feels puffy and swollen, like his lips are too big between his legs. Perhaps they are. He does not know how his new body works or what McCree did to him with that accursed tablet. 

McCree grunts as he hoists Genji’s body. “Damn, you’re heavy.” With effort he manages to throw Genji over a table, legs hanging, toes resting on the ground. At least the pressure is off his bound arm. “All right, sugar. You ready for me?”

“You embarrass me,” Genji snaps.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” McCree says, and enters him again.

It won’t last forever, Genji reminds himself, watching the timer tick down at the corner of his vision. The maintenance cycle will be over soon enough and he can kill this horrible man. As for consequences, well. He’ll worry about those later, when McCree’s throat is crushed and his corpse lying on the laboratory floor. McCree’s cock glides in and out of him slowly, spreading him open with each lazy thrust.

“Baby, you should feel this,” McCree moans. “Your cunt is fuckin’ incredible. Best hole I ever fucked. We gotta do this again sometime.”

Genji keeps his silence. If McCree knew what he was envisioning right now. The staring eyes, the throat collapsed in black-and-blue.

“Hang on, I need to record this.” McCree leans forward, hilting in Genji, and pulls out his comm. He clips it to one of the finger-thin, dormant mechanical arms poking up from the table. “I am _definitely_ jerking off to this later.”

The holodisplay blooms above the little black rectangle, showing Genji a high-res image of himself bent over the table, McCree behind him. No. He doesn’t want to see this.

“Aw, look at us.” McCree grins at the comm. “I think we make a cute couple.”

The rage bursts out of Genji at last, too strong to contain. _“You’re disgusting!”_ he screams. _“I’m going to kill you! I’ll kill you for this!”_

McCree lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Now that was unkind.” He grabs Genji’s ass, squeezing the synthetic flesh. “Good boys don’t talk like that to their betters.”

“You think you’re— _better_ than me?” Genji lets out a faintly hysterical laugh. “You’ve never beaten me in _anything!_ I win at hand-to-hand every time! You’re supposed to be the best at shooting but my aim is still just as good as yours! You’re _pathetic!_ You’re path— _ghk—“_

McCree leans over him suddenly and jams three metal fingers into his mouth. “That’s not very nice, sugar,” he purrs. “Let’s just shut you up for a little while, shall we?”

Then he starts to thrust again and Genji’s eyelids flutter as the fire in his cunt roars to life. The moan escapes him before he can stop it, muffled by McCree’s fingers. McCree laughs in his ear. “Oh yeah, that’s better, ain’t it? Now you feel better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Genji blinks, trying to focus. It’s hard with a thick cock ruthlessly pounding his helpless cunt. But he has to resist. Every time he comes, it feels like he’s losing a little bit more. “Nn—nn—“ Doesn’t know what he’s trying to say— _stop it, fuck you, I hate you,_ none of it will help. None of it will stop him from orgasming again.

McCree jams his fingers deeper into Genji’s mouth until they scrape the back of his throat.

 _“Glgkh!”_ Genji tries to shake his head but it’s useless against the prosthetic hand. He gags again, a burst of thick spit erupting into his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it.” McCree is sweating through his shirt, and Genji can feel the damp on his bound hand and back. “Spit all that up for me.”

Genji tries to suppress the cough but can’t. _“Ghk—“_ Another glut of saliva. McCree laughs and fucks into him harder, hard enough to shake the table. Genji’s dead legs flop around useless, his thighs rattling against the table edge. McCree’s cock punishes his cunt, plunging into him faster and faster.

He hasn’t the presence of mind to close his eyes so he sees himself coming in the comm display, screaming around McCree’s hand, his body shivering. Above him McCree is still laughing. “Oh yeah, sugar, _fuck,_ you’re tight!”

 _Stop!_ he wants to shout. _Stop!_ All that comes out is another pitiful cough, spit pooling under his chin. At last McCree rises, removing his fingers from Genji’s mouth. Genji lets his head drop to the table, cheek resting in his own saliva.

Something brushes his asshole.

His head jerks up again. “No! You can’t do that!”

“Come on, darlin’, you just lubed ‘em up for me. This won’t hurt a bit.”

McCree’s fingers enter him.

 _That_ should hurt, with how forceful it is, how sudden. And yet there’s no pain here either. None at all. Genji clenches his teeth. It feels good. Why won’t it stop feeling good?

A surprised chuckle. “Damn, baby, you didn’t even need the spit! Look at you!”

“Stop it! Take them out!”

“I don’t think so. Your cunt’s squeezin’ me even tighter now.”

Another finger stretching him out. How many is that? The pressure is going straight to his cunt, and he feels it tighten around McCree’s cock. “Please—it hurts!” he lies. “It hurts!”

“I’m not so sure about that.” The stretch on his asshole increases _again_. Too much. He can’t be spread open like this. Genji rocks a little, trying to dislodge McCree. It doesn’t come close to working. McCree raises an eyebrow in the holodisplay. “You just took four of my fingers. Sucked ‘em right in. That’s one hungry asshole you got, sweetheart, whether or not you wanna believe it.”

It’s not his fault. It’s not his _fault._ “I didn’t make my body!” he shouts. “It’s not my fault! Take them out!”

“Now, now. You ain’t givin’ this a fair shot. Let’s see how you like it first, how about that?”

Then McCree is fucking him again and Genji gasps, swallowing a whine at the last second. With four fingers in his ass, McCree’s cock doesn’t glide in and out of him quite so easily; instead it plunges in, parting his cunt. “I hate you,” he whispers.

“That good, huh?”

It _is_ good. Genji doesn’t understand why his asshole could take four fingers so quickly but the stretch from his ass has put his cunt on a hair-trigger, and he swallows, trying not to come again. How many times already? And how many more before McCree is finished with him?

“Fuck, baby, I wish you could see it.” McCree strokes his inner walls. “How your hole’s huggin’ my fingers. _Fuck,_ that’s sexy.”

He starts to thrust harder and takes in a shuddering breath. No. He’s going to come. “Stop it!” Genji tries to twist and hardly manages to look over his shoulder. “Pull out! Pull out!”

“Sorry, sugar.” McCree gives him a wild grin. “I’m gonna fill you up good. Make my cum drip out of you for weeks.”

“No! I don’t want your cum!” Genji yanks at the maglock holding him captive. “Pull out! _Pull out!”_

McCree plants a hand on Genji’s head and pushes his face into the table, leaning over him and fucking into him with short, powerful thrusts. It’s too much for Genji to fight anymore and he orgasms, moaning, McCree’s thumb hooked into his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” McCree breathes, his thrusts going short and erratic. “That’s it, milk it out of me. I knew you wanted it.”

Genji squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel it, the wetness spurting into him and, when McCree pulls out, all over his relaxed entrance and the lips of his cunt. “That’s beautiful,” McCree murmurs, and plucks his comm from where it’s clipped. Genji follows the display without meaning to, sees his puffy cunt streaked with white.

Then he’s being lifted again, and McCree tosses him on the ground.

Genji tries to ignore the pain in his shoulder and glares with as much hatred as he can muster. “Are you done with me now?”

He’s gone soft, at least, cock hanging flaccid from his open fly. He digs in his pocket and comes up with a little packet, pulls a tab from it and lays it on his tongue. The taste makes him grimace.

“I’m not done with you,” he says, and crouches.

Genji rolls his eyes. “This must make you feel so powerful. Violating a defenseless man.”

“Kinda does, actually.” McCree thumbs Genji’s clit, rubbing it in slow circles. “Seems like it makes you feel pretty good too, though.”

Genji shivers, his cunt clenching.

“Seemed like you enjoyed having your ass played with.” McCree’s prosthetic hand slips down, and he slides his fingers into Genji’s ass again. “Seemed like you enjoyed it a lot.”

He pushes Genji’s leg back again. No. Not again. The metal hand works him open, not that it takes much, he’s stretched already. “Well, darlin’.” McCree smiles down at him. “You ready for more?”

“Fuck you,” Genji spits.

“Now, sugar, you don’t gotta be like that,” McCree says, and starts to thrust.

HIs prosthetic hand, Genji realizes quickly, can sustain a rhythm much faster and harder than a human hand could. McCree’s fingers fuck into him at a pace Genji can scarcely perceive; he senses it almost as a vibration plunging into him, his hole offering no resistance. He shouts, stunned and humiliated as an orgasm takes him, his ass clenching around McCree’s fingers.

McCree chuckles. “There we are. Now, see, it’s not that bad, is it?”

Another finger. “Stop it!” Genji shouts. “Get away from me!” It’s useless, of course. The prosthetic hand jackhammers into him, his cunt gushing, asshole spasming. What is he supposed to do? Let this vile man draw more climaxes from him? And yet—what choice does he have? McCree’s thrusts are without mercy, punching deep into him; he can feel them in his cunt. “No,” Genji moans, and comes a second time.

“Oh, sweetheart…you can take another. Wanna see?” McCree slows for a moment to slide a fourth finger in.

“No.” Genji shakes his head. “You can’t—you can’t do that.” He can’t take four fingers at that pace.

“Can’t I?” McCree asks drily, and start to fuck him again.

He can take four fingers, it seems, without much difficulty. Genji cries out, struggling mightily once again to move his dead limbs, but the timer has not run out. Not quite. So he lies motionless with his leg hiked up and McCree’s fingers ruining his asshole at an inhuman pace. It’s a blur of climax and screamed curses, of his cunt tightening around nothing and his ass clenching wildly, McCree laughing rich and full. Every time he comes he thinks McCree will get bored and stop, but instead those fingers keep plunging into him and the pleasure starts to build up all over again. “Stop!” he shouts, delirious with terror, disbelief, pleasure, something. All of them. “Stop it! I don’t want to come anymore! Stop making me come!”

McCree stops.

He takes his fingers out and drops Genji’s leg and Genji lies there, staring at the ceiling. His asshole feels…loose. Open. McCree spreads it, cocking his head. “Damn, darlin’. You’re just gaping wide open, aren’t you?”

“F—fuck you!” Genji manages.

“Think I got another load ready for you by now.” McCree rises. “Gotta do something about that asshole, though. Hm…”

He walks away. Genji doesn’t bother to look where he’s going. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing he can do. His limbs won’t obey him. His powerful new body has betrayed him.

The neck of a bottle touches his lips and warm beer pours into his mouth. Genji coughs and splutters at the sour taste, spitting out what he can. It runs down his cheek. “Hey now, just thought you might want the last sip,” McCree says, and pushes Genji’s leg up again.

Something blunt and smooth brushes his ass.

“No!” Genji raises his head. “Don’t! Don’t put it in!"

The broad base of the plastic bottle presses against his hole. For a moment he thinks it won’t go in, that it’s simply too big; but then his hole gives and it pops inside.

McCree advances it slowly. “There we go. Should keep you nice and tight when I fuck your cunt.”

Genji bites his lip. The bottle goes deeper than McCree’s fingers, although he does experience a little bit of relief when his hole closes around the base of the neck. He remembers the doctor telling him his holes were blind pouches, so he doesn’t think it could go much deeper anyway. Still, it’s _too_ deep, the pressure too much. McCree kneels between Genji’s legs, lines himself up, and sinks in.

Genji feels _full._

Uncomfortably so. Yet when McCree moans out a “yeah, baby, take it, take it” and starts to fuck him, the discomfort turns right over into pleasure. Genji swallows and steels himself against the next orgasm, focusing instead on the timer in the corner of his vision. Almost done. He just has to put up with this for another few minutes and then he can squeeze McCree’s throat with his cybernetic hand until he feels the cartilage and muscle and bones crushed under his fingers.

“Mm, darlin’, I swear I’ve never had a cunt this sweet.” McCree leans down, grasping Genji’s jaw again with the prosthetic hand; his tongue runs over Genji’s cheek, licking away the spilled beer. “You want my load?”

“No,” Genji hisses. “I don’t want your _disgusting_ semen.”

McCree chuckles. “Well, that’s too bad, because I’m about to dump another one in you. Gonna have two loads in your cunt, how ‘bout that, huh? You like having that sexy cunt of yours pumped full of cum? I bet you like it, baby—“

“I don’t want it, I _don’t want it—“_

But McCree isn’t listening, fucking into Genji twice as fast now as he was before and the orgasm won’t be suppressed anymore. Genji groans without meaning too, his holes squeezing the twin shafts of the plastic beer bottle and McCree’s cock, straining around them as the pleasure decimates him. McCree’s eyes drift closed, and he ejaculates again, his breath shuddering; it stinks of beer, and Genji wrinkles his nose. Just a few more minutes. It’s almost over. When McCree pulls out Genji’s cunt clenches again briefly in the post-orgasm aftershock, and he feels semen squirting weakly from his slit.

McCree rises. “Damn. That is a grade-A cunt.”

He’s at the tablet again. Genji begins to plan. He should be fast; McCree may be armed, and guns can do significant damage to his body at close range if they hit the right spots, like the neural relays or the battery rods. The mechanical arm descends from the ceiling, and the magnetic connector locks into the port at Genji’s lower back, raising him into the air again. The bottle is still lodged in his asshole, between his dangling legs. 

“So, your maintenance is almost done, huh?” McCree scrolls through the tablet.

Damn. He’s noticed. Well, Genji can take his revenge at another time. “Yes,” he murmurs.

“Looks like our time together is drawing to a close.” McCree lets out a disappointed sigh. “A damn shame. We were having fun together.”

 _“Fuck_ you,” Genji spits.

“You enjoyed it that much, huh?” McCree grins at him. “Well, lucky for you I had an idea. We might not have to end things so soon.”

What?

Genji says nothing, only watches with trepidation as McCree swipes something on the tablet. Did he figure out how to prolong the cycle? That seems complicated, and surely he’s not smart enough for it. Then there’s a shifting in Genji’s joints.

His legs and his cybernetic arm disarticulate from their sockets, crashing to the floor.

Genji screams. There may be words; he isn’t thinking, can’t untangle the mix of rage and desperation and fear. It was supposed to be over. And now—the timer hitting zero, _finally,_ and the proximal halves of his joints swivel on their axes but his limbs remain disconnected, lying on the ground beneath him. He’s just a torso now, a torso with one useless human arm tied behind his back.

Then the mechanical arm releases him and he falls hard to the ground, landing on his front. McCree is there to flip him over, and Genji is still screaming curses as McCree tells him to shut up, tells him again and a third time.

There is no fourth time. Genji’s head whips to the side as the metal hand slaps him across the face. “You gonna be quiet now?” McCree asks.

Genji can’t even think. He nods for lack of a better response.

“All right then.” McCree reaches into his pocket, pulls out another tab and lays it on his tongue, grimacing. “Damn, my balls are gonna be sore tomorrow.” He reaches down and dips his fingers into Genji’s cunt almost absently, pumping them at a lazy pace. “Listen, sugar, I think we can both see that you don’t have a good way out of this. Or any way.” He opens his fingers, spreading Genji’s inner walls. “So I figured I’d offer you a deal. You suck me off, I won’t fuck your cunt anymore, we’ll call it a day. How’s that sound?”

“All right,” Genji whispers. He doesn’t want to come again. He can’t fight. All he can do is obey.

McCree cups his face, turns it so their eyes meet. He smiles. “What was that, darlin’?”

“Please,” Genji says. “I’ll suck your cock. Please.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He digs in his pocket again. “Hang on a minute. Here, I don’t want any teeth.”

It’s a ring gag. Genji has used those once or twice and he certainly doesn’t want to here but seems to have no choice. McCree sticks it in his mouth and buckles it. “Okay, sweetheart.”

He sits down at Genji’s head and flips him over. His cock is hardening _again,_ thanks to whatever it is he’s been taking; it’s still half-flaccid but growing, and tentatively Genji licks it, trying to ignore the sharp smell of unwashed sweat, the salty taste. McCree strokes his hair. “Come on, baby, you can do better than that.”

Genji fears the reprisal if he fails to satisfy, so—with some difficulty, having no way to move himself—he captures the tip of McCree’s cock with his tongue and guides the head into his mouth. Gently he bobs, hollowing his cheeks, trying to create a tight seal. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? He closes his lips under the head, circling the tip with his tongue.

“Mm, that’s good.” McCree strokes Genji’s hair. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Of course he has, because he enjoyed sex when his body was whole. McCree’s fingers are thick, running through his hair, and Genji tries not to shudder. It’s hard without any leverage but he leans in, taking more of McCree’s cock into his mouth.

“Yeah, baby,” McCree murmurs. “That’s real good.” He takes the back of Genji’s head and pulls it down all at once.

His cock pops into Genji’s throat and advances another couple of inches. _That_ hurts quite a bit, which Genji would have been grateful for earlier but now it’s just another injury. He struggles and shakes his head, tries to protest. All that comes out are unintelligible noises, muffled by McCree’s cock. He gags reflexively as his throat tries to expel the intruder—it’s far too big—but McCree’s grip is firm.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” McCree moans.

He can’t breathe—there’s pain in what’s left of his chest, and he gags again, making another attempt to wriggle free. There’s no give. Is McCree going to leave him here until he passes out? The ring gag holds his mouth open and he can’t try to close it or bite down. His chest gets tighter and tighter. His torso bends uselessly as he struggles. At least if he blacks out, maybe McCree will—

A _hiss_ as vents pop open along his ribs, or where his ribs used to be. Immediately he can breathe again, his synthetic lungs drawing oxygen from this new pathway. The pain starts to disappear from his chest, but not his throat. McCree’s cock is too big, and Genji wasn’t prepared. It _hurts._

“ ’S what I thought,” McCree says above him. “Damn, this body of yours is something.”

He pulls Genji’s head down further, until his cock is fully hilted and Genji’s nose is buried in his pubic hair. It’s thick and curly and the acrid smell of sweat fills Genji’s nostrils. He struggles again, knowing it’s futile. There’s nothing he can do. Right now he’s just a warm hole for this disgusting man’s cock. Once more he coughs, and thick saliva bursts out of his mouth.

McCree holds him there, unbothered by the way Genji writhes, how his taxed throat convulses; indeed, the latter draws a sound of appreciation. Then the _click_ of a lighter, and Genji smells cigarette smoke.

“You know, you don’t gotta be such a showoff.”

Genji gags, the harsh sound muffled around McCree’s shaft.

“I’ve been here almost three years. And you showed up, what, two weeks ago? Come on now.” A long exhale.

Genji tries to look up and can’t see much. His eyes are starting to water.

“I’m just sayin’. I started at the bottom. I put in the work. All I’m askin’ is for you to do the same.”

He lapses into silence, the only sounds the quiet blowing of smoke and Genji’s wet gagging. Tears pour out of his eyes now; his chin and McCree’s balls are covered in saliva. Once more he coughs and more of it spills from his lips, viscous and sticky.

“You know, you’re just a _picture_ right now,” McCree says. “Bet there’s a lot of guys’d pay a lot of money to have a go at you like this. I’m tellin’ you—I wish you could feel what it’s like to fuck that cunt of yours. Like a glove.”

Genji tries not to think about it, about other men having a _go_ at him, about McCree sitting there smoking, watching, laughing. He tries not to think about the bottle filling his ass, the thick cock sheathed in his throat. How easy it was to make him like this. He can feel another gag coming, tries to shift, to stick his tongue, out, anything to make it stop. He gags anyway, coating his lips with another wave of spit.

McCree chuckles. “That throat of yours ain’t half bad, though. Gets real tight when you gag like that.”

Genji doesn’t want it to feel good for him. But of course, he has no control over that.

“Mm.” McCree lets him up a couple of inches—not quite enough to free his throat. “How ‘bout it, sugar, you want this load? Want it in your mouth?”

At last. Genji tries to nod, which only triggers another cough and a fresh set of tears.

“All right. It’s all yours.” At last he pulls out until the head of his cock rests on Genji’s bottom lip. “You look at me, you hear? You just keep lookin’ at me.”

Genji locks eyes with him, willing this to be over. McCree jerks himself, cheeks flushed red with arousal, until at last he grunts and cum spurts from his cock, shooting over Genji’s cheek, lips, and tongue. “Don’t you dare swallow it, baby,” he growls. “Don’t you swallow yet.”

Genji thinks of disobeying but fears repercussion; instead he holds it in his mouth and waits as McCree’s orgasm slows. It tastes salty and sour.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” McCree murmurs. “You stay just like that, baby.”

Then he pulls out his comm, and Genji gazes up at it helplessly, tongue out, chin coated in saliva, tear tracks on his cheeks. A tinny shutter-click as McCree takes a photo.

“Okay, baby, you can swallow. _Damn,_ that was good.” He lifts his cock. “And clean me up some, will you?”

His balls are covered in thick spit. Genji swallows the sour cum and leans forward to lick up his own saliva; he lets out a quiet, involuntary whine at the salty taste of McCree’s unwashed sack but does not pause.

“That’s good, darlin’. That’s real good.” McCree rises to a crouch, leans down, and plants a kiss on Genji’s temple. “Hey, how’s that bottle feel, huh? Bet it’s got you all riled up.”

Genji attempts to protest but the ring gag won’t let him form words, until McCree snaps the buckle off and tugs it out. Genji works his sore jaw. “Please take it out. You said you would be finished.”

When he looks up McCree is laying another tab on his tongue. He winces, grabbing his crotch. “Damn, that burns.” Then he rises and goes behind Genji. “Believe I said I’d be done fuckin’ your cunt.”

“What?! Ngh—“ The bottle comes out all at once, and Genji arches against the flash of pleasure, looking over his shoulder. “No! You said you were done! Let me go!”

“Damn. Gotta say, you’re lookin’ pretty sloppy back here.” McCree rises and retrieves the tablet. “Hey, did I mention that your pleasure settings aren’t maxed out yet?”

What?

“Only put ‘em up to about seventy percent. So I was wondering…what might happen if I kicked ‘em up to a hundred.” He swipes at the tablet.

Genji comes.

Nothing is touching him. Nothing is inside him. It’s the residual sensation, the stretch of the beer bottle, the cum still oozing out of his cunt. When the orgasm fades, he still burns like never before. “Turn it down!” Genji shouts. Even that, the tightening of his diaphragm to expel the words, sets him on the edge of another climax. “Turn it down! I don’t want this!”

“Hm.” McCree crouches and spreads his slack asshole with two fingers, which is enough to set off Genji’s next orgasm. “Make you another deal. I’ll turn the settings down if you let me fuck your ass.”

“Yes—yes, fine, just turn it down,” Genji manages, still shaking.

“Well now, that wasn’t very polite, was it?” McCree slides his fingers into Genji’s ass and starts to thrust.

His next orgasm crashes over him straight on the heels of the first one and won’t stop, won’t wind down, not with McCree fingering him. _“Please!”_ he screams. _“I want your cock! I want you in my ass! Please fuck my ass!”_

“That’s better,” McCree says, and his fingers disappear as the orgasm fades at last. Genji rests his head on the floor, unable to move. At least he isn’t about to come again. The settings must be back down.

McCree slides into him.

Hard once again, from that damned drug. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes. “You’re so soft back here.”

Genji lies with his cheek against the cold metal, listening to McCree’s harsh breaths, the quiet squelching of the thick shaft pumping into his relaxed hole. When the next orgasm begins to bubble up he doesn’t bother resisting, only moans through it, his loose hole tightening as best it can. “Mm, that’s it, that’s good,” McCree murmurs. “Gonna fuck another load into you. You want that, huh?”

Genji can’t bring himself to protest. McCree smacks his ass, making him flinch. “I said, you want that?”

“Yes, I want that,” Genji says dully.

“Yeah, that’s right, darlin’.”

McCree starts to thrust faster, each stroke hitting him deep. Genji takes in a breath and coughs, his throat still sore; then he comes, biting his lip so he doesn’t moan again. From the groan behind him he’s not the only one, and Genji feels his clenching hole milking McCree’s shaft as it pumps in and out of him.

There. It must be finished now. McCree pulls out, swearing. _“Fuck,_ my balls.”

Genji looks over his shoulder, sees McCree stagger to his feet, clutching his groin. The sight gives him a vindictive prick of satisfaction.

“Baby.” McCree grins, euphoric. “That is one _amazing_ set of holes you got there.”

Genji does not reply, wishing him simply to go. This has to be over. It has to be.

“It’s okay, you don’t gotta say anything.” He stretches his arms above his head. “I know you enjoyed yourself too.”

 _“Fuck_ you,” Genji hisses. It wasn’t his fault. It’s not his body.

A second’s silence. Then McCree sighs. “Oh, sugar, you shouldn’t have said that.”

Fuck.

McCree crouches and then there’s blunt pressure at his asshole, only for the briefest moment before it gives and the base of the beer bottle slides into his ass again. “Don’t!” Genji struggles and knows he must look foolish, writhing limbless on the ground. “Take it— _unh—“_

He comes, his ass spasming wildly around the bottle. No. The sensitivity settings. “Don’t! Please!” In between gasps, the orgasm still thundering through him. “Turn it down!”

“Good night, sweetheart.” McCree ambles for the door, tossing the tablet on a nearby table. “See you tomorrow.”

 _“Please!”_ At last the orgasm starts to fade, and Genji screams at McCree’s retreating back. _“You can’t leave me like this! I don’t want to come anymore! Please!”_

But the lab door slides open and then shut again, and Genji is lying on the floor with the plastic bottle filling his ass and the aftershocks of his orgasm running through him. He looks around, searching desperately for any way to get to the tablet, and even that motion sets off another climax. Genji moans from low in his throat, waiting for it to end, and starts to scan again.

It triggers another orgasm, his asshole hugging the neck of the bottle. He can’t do this. He can’t keep doing this.

Genji lies very still.

It’s the only thing that works, and it doesn’t work very well; he still comes just from having his ass stretched around the plastic bottle. He does manage to doze, waking every now and then when an orgasm takes him spontaneously. Sometimes he cries, his body shuddering alternately from sobs and climax. This should never have happened. He should be dead. He shouldn’t have this body. This machine that doesn’t belong to him.

He closes his eyes.

——

“What on Earth—“

Genji wakes.

The clicking of heels. Dr. O’Deorain approaches. “What happened to you?”

“Agent McCree,” he says hoarsely. The doctor crouches beside him and grasps the neck of the bottle protruding from his ass. “Wait,” he says. “No, don’t—“

She pulls it out and he comes, moaning into the floor, humiliated at being seen in such a way. But the doctor is already striding across the lab. She throws the bottle in a biohazard waste bin on the way. “The pleasure pathways. I hadn’t activated them yet.”

She pokes at her tablet and the burning disappears, _finally,_ from Genji’s groin. His eyes start to prick and he swallows, blinking. He will not cry in front of her. Not after that undignified display.

“Agent McCree did this, did he?” the doctor says, and the mechanical arm descends, jacking into his back and lifting him off the floor, ferrying him to the glass mod chamber at the end of the room. She follows it, walking briskly. “Let me guess, he came in during your maintenance cycle.”

“Yes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t— _ah!”_

Two nozzles sweep out from the walls and jam themselves into his holes, spraying freezing water into him. He shakes his head, thrashing. “No! Please stop! Turn them off! Please!”

Dr. O’Deorain lifts an eyebrow and pokes the tablet. The nozzles shut off but remain inside him. “And how else am I supposed to clean you out, exactly?”

Yes. McCree came inside him…several times. “It was…very cold,” he says quietly. “Can you—”

“Fine,” she says. When the nozzles start up again they’re warmer and the flow much gentler. Water drips out of him and pools on the ground.

“Can you release my wrist?” he asks.

A mechanical arm comes up beside him, letting out a high-pitched whir. A second later the maglock cable falls to the floor and his arm comes free.

His shoulder explodes in pain.

So intense that he cries out, unable to move it; it swings limp at his side. Pins and needles swarm his hand. The doctor calls through the glass, “Would you like a painkiller?”

Genji nods. A needle jabs into his shoulder and the agony begins to dampen, enough for him to be able to focus. The nozzles pop out of him and retract.

“So, what?” the doctor asks. “McCree did all this because he didn’t like you beating him in training.”

“Yes. I think.”

She makes a noise of disgust. “Typical.”

“You have to help me.” Genji looks up. “You have to help me! I was paralyzed! I couldn’t defend myself! You—“

“Couldn’t _defend yourself?”_ she interrupts. “Your body was deactivated, but you’ve still got a brain, haven’t you? What was to stop you from using that?”

Genji stares at her, speechless.

“You’re from a crime family, isn’t that right? You must know _something_ of making threats.” She waves a hand. “You’re an agent of Blackwatch now. You need to learn to defend yourself in unpredictable situations.”

For a moment he can’t think of anything to say; then the words burst out of him in a messy torrent. “This _isn’t my body!_ You did this to me! I was dead three weeks ago! You attached me to this— _thing_ you built! How am I supposed to defend myself when I don’t know anything about it?!”

Dr. O’Deorain gazes at him levelly, thinking. Then she lets out a little sigh. “Very well. I’ll put in a failsafe during your maintenance cycles, so you can stop them early if need be. And I’ll put checks on certain settings so you’ll need to okay them too.” She brings up the tablet keyboard and starts to type. “But the rest you’ll have to do yourself.”

Genji watches his own reflection in the concave glass. Strange to see himself like this, a mechanical torso with a human arm. But his eyes are glowing flame-red and alive.

“I know you’ll probably want to, I don’t know. Take revenge on Agent McCree, or whatever it is you boys do,” the doctor says. “But let me recommend restraint. The commander’s put a lot of resources into that man. He won’t be happy if you do something drastic.”

Yes. He will have to wait for the perfect moment, to make McCree pay the price for these crimes.

But he’s patient. He’ll wait as long as it takes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852237) by [DeskGirlBlushing (DeskGirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeskGirl/pseuds/DeskGirlBlushing)




End file.
